


Aspen, Leonard Cohen, and You

by SPowell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, M/M, first-time, song-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 15:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPowell/pseuds/SPowell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks to themightyflynn for the beta!</p><p>Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to J.K.Rowling. I make no profit off this endeavor.</p><p>Want to listen to the song? Find it here:  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vxyqhyhSEXc&feature=player_embedded">Leonard Cohen, "Love Itself"</a></p>
    </blockquote>





	Aspen, Leonard Cohen, and You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vaysh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaysh/gifts).



> Thanks to themightyflynn for the beta!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to J.K.Rowling. I make no profit off this endeavor.
> 
> Want to listen to the song? Find it here: [Leonard Cohen, "Love Itself"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vxyqhyhSEXc&feature=player_embedded)

Draco sets his bag down in the foyer of Blaise and Pansy’s posh ski chalet and looks around. It’s not so very late. Where the devil is Blaise? It’s unlike him to go to bed before midnight, yet the downstairs is empty and dark. Music plays over the sound system, though—an artist Draco doesn’t recognise with a deep, male voice that’s oddly pleasing to the ear.  
  
Draco flips on the light, walks by the kitchen, and steps down into the sunken living room, noting the roaring fire in the fireplace, the bear-skin rug, and the three wall-to-wall windows that in the daylight give a gorgeous view of the white, Aspen countryside but at this hour only reveal dark night and a heavy snow falling.  
  
Draco slips off his shoes and puts them in the corner before calling out, “Hello--Blaise? Pansy?”  
  
There’s a thump on the stairs and Draco turns, eyes alighting on the last person he expects to see. Draco takes a slight step backward.  
  
Harry Potter.  
  
He hasn’t seen the Saviour of the wizarding world in years. Harry’s grown taller, broader, more handsome. He’s lost that naïve, purposeful look, and it’s been replaced with something else…wry amusement, Draco thinks, along with an ease that had to have slowly developed after the burden of war lifted.  
  
Strangely, Potter’s wearing a pair of white flannel pyjamas with little Father Christmas’ all over them. It should look ridiculous on a grown man, but Draco finds it oddly endearing.  
  
“Potter.” Draco’s lets his eyes roam over his old school nemesis, from the mop of disheveled curls all the way up to the bare, finely-boned feet.  
  
“Malfoy? What are you doing here?” Potter adjusts his glasses. He seems as surprised to see Draco as Draco is to see Potter.  
  
For a moment, Draco entertains the idea that he somehow walked into the wrong place, but that’s impossible; he’s been here before, after all, and the chalet is the only one for miles. Not to mention the fact that the key fit in the lock. Oh, and there’s a large picture of Blaise and Pansy over the fireplace.  
  
“Blaise and Pansy invited me for the weekend,” he tells Potter. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Same,” Potter says, adding to the surrealism of the scene.  
  
“But…I didn’t know you were friends with them.”  
  
Potter shrugs. “I did some work for them a month ago. Some builders screwed them over on renovating their kitchen and downstairs bathroom, leaving them with a mess just before Pansy’s parents were supposed to visit. I was able to get it all done in time, and they insisted I use their chalet this weekend.”  
  
“So they’re not here?”  
  
Potter shakes his head.  
  
“I wonder if I got the date wrong,” Draco mutters.  
  
“I don’t know,” Potter says, smiling warmly, “but don’t mind me; there’s plenty of room. I was just lounging around upstairs reading. I haven’t had a vacation in so long, I’m worn out.”  
  
Draco bites his lip, unsure of what to do. He glances out the window. It’s several miles to the Apparition point and he can’t leave in this snow storm.  
  
“If you’re sure,” he says.  
  
“Of course.” Potter heads for the kitchen, saying over his shoulder, “I brought some burgundy. Would you like a glass?”  
  
“All right.” Draco follows, leaning against the bar and listening to the singer croon another song. Draco has to admit he finds the deep, melodious voice soothing. “What is that playing?”  
  
Potter looks up from pouring the wine. “Hm? Oh, that’s Leonard Cohen.” He hands Draco a glass and leads Draco to the large, white leather sofa in the living room. “He’s a Muggle singer. Hermione gave me the CD.” Potter tucks his bare feet under the cushion. “I find it very relaxing.”  
  
Draco nods. It’s sensual and a bit sexy, but if that’s what Potter likes to relax to—to each his own. He takes a sip of his wine. It goes down smoothly, and Draco must show his surprise, for Potter smiles over his glass.  
  
“I do have some taste, you know.”  
  
“I didn’t say you didn’t, Potter, although those pyjamas are atrocious.”  
  
Potter laughs. “A present from your cousin Teddy. They’re actually quite comfortable.”  
  
Draco raises a brow.  
  
“Really, they are. Also quite warm.”  
  
“I believe you.”  
  
Potter’s lip curls up. “Would you be willing to wear a pair?”  
  
“Certainly.”  
  
“I’d love to see that.” Potter’s eyes twinkle.  
  
Draco shakes his head and takes another sip of wine, limbs relaxing into the comfortable sofa. “I don’t know why Blaise insisted I come this weekend if he wasn’t going to be here,” he says. “You were surely looking forward to the place to yourself, Potter.”  
  
“Not at all. This is really a pleasant surprise—we haven’t seen one another in years. And don’t you think it’s about time we dropped the formalities…Draco?”  
  
His name on Potter’s lips sends an unexpected zip down Draco’s spine. “Harry,” Draco nods, swallowing hard. They agreed to dispense with their animosity long ago after the war ended, before they each went their separate ways; but still--This should be more uncomfortable than it is, Draco thinks. It shouldn’t be so easy to sit next to Harry Potter and have a glass of wine in this romantic setting with the voice of pure sex crooning in their ears.  
  
But it is easy, and Draco thinks perhaps it might be all right to stay.  
  
He finds himself drawn into a conversation about work, and then where their old schools chums have wound up. When Harry mentions that Luna went on to marry Neville Longbottom and open her own health spa featuring the beneficial derivatives of magical plants, they both just shake their heads and chuckle.  
  
“She has more business sense than any of us gave her credit for,” Potter— _Harry_ says.  
  
“More power to her.” Draco lifts his glass and clinks it with Harry’s before drinking.  
  
The conversation turns to Teddy and how he’s growing, and then to Ron and Hermione and their children.  
  
“I’m surprised you haven’t settled down yet,” Draco says, setting his glass on the table and settling back into the cushions.  
  
“I haven’t found the right man yet,” Harry says. “Or rather, I haven’t had the opportunity to pursue anything.”  
  
Draco’s head buzzes with the wine, and he finds it a little difficult to keep his eyes open. He’d stayed up most of the night before finishing the paper work on a legal case. He focuses his gaze on the crackling and popping fire, absorbing Harry’s words.  
  
“Since when do you like men? I thought you were quite serious about Ginevra Weasley at one point.”  
  
Harry leans back against a sofa pillow. “Never really serious, and once I got over the whole hero thing, I found that being with a girl just didn’t do it for me. Besides, I used to spend a fair amount of time back at Hogwarts admiring Theo Nott’s arse, and I eventually had to ask myself why.”  
  
Draco smirks. “It was quite a nice arse, wasn’t it?”  
  
Harry grins. “I think he twitched it when he walked on purpose.”  
  
“Undoubtedly.” Draco smiles back.  
  
He covers a sudden yawn with his hand. “Sorry--I hate to be a spoil sport, but I’m really quite tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”  
  
“No problem,” Harry says, standing up. “I’m pretty knackered, too. We can always talk tomorrow.”  
  
As Harry switches off the music and the lights, Draco climbs the staircase. At the top, he sees that Harry has taken the room that Draco usually occupies when visiting. He considers taking the third bedroom, but it’s small and only has a single bed and no view to speak of. At the moment it’s a mess of papers and books, as Blaise sometimes uses it as a study. With a shrug, Draco opts for the master suite.  
  
He showers and can’t help but smile when he comes out of the bathroom to find a pair of hideous red and green flannel pyjamas laid out for him on the large bed. Shaking his head, Draco drops the towel and puts them on.  
  
They are surprisingly comfortable, soft and sweet-smelling, much like the pyjamas Draco wore as a child. He climbs under the covers and stares out the French doors at the swirling snow, memories of carefree, easy times teasing the edges of his mind.  
  
“Goodnight , Draco,” Harry calls from the next room.  
  
“Goodnight, Harry,” Draco calls back, barely able to keep his eyes open.  


 

***

  
  
When Draco awakens, bright sunlight shines through the doors to the balcony, carrying dust motes through the air.  
  
Draco rises up on his elbows and blinks. Everywhere outside is pristine, white snow.  
  
The same artist from the night before plays on the sound system, and Draco can hear the clattering of dishes coming from the kitchen. Draco flops back down on the bed and closes his eyes, wishing he’d thought to close the curtains the night before. The room is entirely too bright. A moment later, there’s a noise and Draco peeks out from behind the arm he’s slung over his eyes. Harry stands in the doorway holding two cups.  
  
“Coffee?” Harry smiles, eyes creasing at the corners.  
  
“Sounds lovely.” Surprised, Draco sits up.  
  
Harry hands Draco his cup and sits down on the bed, eyes roving over Draco. “You wore them.”  
  
“Of course. I said I would.”  
  
“Comfortable, aren’t they?”  
  
Draco nods, sipping at his coffee. “Very.” In truth, in the light of day he feels a bit ridiculous in the Christmas-themed pyjamas, but he isn’t going to admit that to Harry.  
  
“I have a confession to make,” Harry says after a few moments of comfortable silence. “I think you’re here because of me.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Draco takes another long sip before setting his cup on the nightstand.  
  
“Well, while working at Pansy and Blaise’s, I admitted to Pansy that I had a crush on you back in school.”  
  
Draco’s mouth falls open. So he wasn’t the only one returning to his bed to have wet dreams after heated confrontations with is rival.  
  
“You did?”  
  
Harry nods. “And I also told her I’ve wanted to meet up with you again, but the situation has never presented itself. And now here you are.”  
  
“Here I am,” Draco echoes, unsure how he feels about his friends’ plotting behind his back. “How very Slytherin of them.”  
  
“I hope you don’t mind.” Harry looks suddenly shy.  
  
The Muggle singer begins to croon a slow love song, the rich timber of his voice stirring something within Draco.  
  
“I don’t mind at all. I—I admit to having a bit of a thing for you as well when we were at Hogwarts. You’ve always been able to get me going in one way or another.”  
  
Harry’s eyes sparkle, and he puts aside his coffee cup, crawling up to where Draco leans against the pillows. Placing a hand on each side of Draco’s head, Harry looks at him intensely. The wire-framed glasses he wears reveal much more of Harry’s eyes than his previous, thicker-framed glasses, and Draco realises with a slight jump of his heart just how green those eyes are.  
  
Leonard Cohen sings.  


 

_The light came through the window,_   
_Straight from the sun above,_   
_And so inside my little room_   
_There plunged the rays of Love._

  
  
Harry lifts a hand to run it through Draco’s hair before bringing their mouths together in a soft kiss that tastes of coffee.  
  
Harry’s lips are supple and addictive. Draco softly brushes his own lips against them before opening his mouth to allow Harry’s tongue entrance.  


 

_In streams of light I clearly saw_   
_The dust you seldom see,_   
_Out of which the Nameless makes_   
_A Name for one like me._

  
  
Hands explore, bodies pressing together. Slowly, they fumble to remove the flannel; breath stuttering as skin gradually meets skin in a deliciously soft slide. Draco finds himself drunk with need, the sunlight pouring in through the glass highlighting the planes of Harry’s muscled body as he settles between Draco’s legs. As Harry lifts his head to look at Draco, Draco’s heart begins to ache with something he’d long ago given up on ever feeling.  
  
This. This moment. Somehow, it seems to have been waiting to happen.  


 

_I’ll try to say a little more:_   
_Love went on and on_   
_Until it reached an open door –_   
_Then Love Itself_   
_Love Itself was gone._

  
  
Harry kisses Draco again, fingers digging into Draco’s back, scoring the skin inch by inch as their kiss deepens, lips clinging to lips, tongues brushing against one another languidly, hands exploring every bit of skin. Pleasure builds and Draco aches for more. He gasps when Harry reaches down and touches him. He wants this. More than anything.  


 

_All busy in the sunlight_   
_The flecks did float and dance,_   
_And I was tumbled up with them_   
_In formless circumstance._

_I’ll try to say a little more:_   
_Love went on and on_   
_Until it reached an open door –_   
_Then Love Itself_   
_Love Itself was gone._

  
  
A whispered spell of preparation, a welcome breach, and Draco’s lost. He’s filled with Harry, and it’s wonderful. His hips move as if with a mind of their own, slowly pushing upward to meet each of Harry’s tortuously slow thrusts.  


 

_Then I came back from where I’d been._   
_My room, it looked the same –_   
_But there was nothing left between_   
_The Nameless and the Name._

  
  
Harry leans forward, kissing Draco again and again, and Draco squeezes Harry’s sides with his knees, trying to convey the depth of pleasure and emotion he’s feeling. It’s been a long time since he’s been with someone, and this is Harry Potter, for Merlin’s sake. Draco isn’t going to last long. A particularly sharp thrust, and Draco gasps into Harry’s mouth, unable to stop himself from breaking the kiss and arching his back. Harry’s mouth latches onto the dip between Draco’s collar bones, hot, wet, and demanding.  
  
How can it be so perfect? Draco drags his fingers over the muscles of Harry’s back before moving his hands lower to cup Harry’s arse, pulling him in deeper.  
  
Harry gasps, rocking gently.  


 

_All busy in the sunlight_   
_The flecks did float and dance,_   
_And I was tumbled up with them_   
_In formless circumstance._

  
  
As Harry pants above Draco, a tingling at the base of Draco’s spine slowly builds, edging upward. Small grunts escape Harry’s mouth and his body trembles as Draco moves between them to stroke his aching cock, his eyes meeting Harry’s.  
  
In, out, in, out, the rhythm becomes everything as sensation mounts. Draco’s deliciously close. He opens his mouth to say something—to tell Harry how much he feels—but the only thing that comes out is a long moan of pleasure.  


 

_I’ll try to say a little more:_   
_Love went on and on_   
_Until it reached an open door –_

  
  
Raw pleasure peaks and fractures inside Draco, colours blending behind his eyelids as his body jerks helplessly in an orgasm that almost hurts in its intensity. Harry groans and speeds up his thrusting before stiffening over Draco with a cry.  


 

_Then Love itself,_   
_Love Itself was gone._

_Love Itself was gone._

  
  
Draco struggles to swallow what he’s aghast to realise are tears as he lies breathing hard, one hand resting on Harry’s sweating back, the other carding through Harry’s thick mass of hair.  
  
“Your heart’s beating so loudly,” Harry says against Draco’s skin.  
  
Draco clears his throat. “I imagine it is.” He doesn’t recognise the soft tone of his own voice, evidently reserved for Harry and Harry alone.  
  
“Mine is, too. It felt this way when you walked in last night.”  
  
Another wave of raw emotion assailing him, Draco pulls Harry into a tight embrace. Already Draco’s hand feels at home resting at the small of Harry’s back.  
  
After a time, Draco says, “It’s odd, isn’t it? The two of us here like this?”  
  
Harry raises his head, chin on Draco’s chest, green eyes sparking with conviction. “Yes. But it seems right, too.”  
  
Draco has to agree. Harry moves to kiss him, and Draco resolves to send Blaise and Pansy an expensive gift the first chance he gets.  
  
Leonard Cohen sings on.  
  


 

_finis_


End file.
